


Phoenix

by sammysmissingshoe



Series: Young Blood Chronicles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood, Demon Dean, Hurt Sam Winchester, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammysmissingshoe/pseuds/sammysmissingshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stolen grace, demon blood, and the world's first murder weapon. 'Team Free Will' was going to Hell."</p><p>Sequel to My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark. You don't have to have read My Songs, but it would probably help a little. Sam continues his hunt for Demon Dean, but runs into a man named Cole, who just so happens to also be hunting for Dean. He kidnaps and tortures Sam to try and get information on Dean, while Dean continues enjoying his new life as a demon. Originally posted 9/29/14.</p><p>Story and chapter titles from a Fall Out Boy song, Phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey Young Blood

**Author's Note:**

> When I first wrote this, all I knew was that a guy named Cole captured Sam and tortures him to find out info on Dean. This is what I had guessed/hoped would happen.

Fat lot of good drinking demon blood did for Sam. Sure, it might have saved his ass from demon Dean once, but Dean had still managed to get away, and get his hands back on that damned blade. God knows how many others died because of Sam's failure and weakness.

Weak; was that what Sam was now? Too weak to stop Dean, too weak to deny his lust for demon blood, too weak to even save his brother, hell, anyone. Weakness was born of blame and desperation. They seemed to be all Sam was capable of feeling nowadays.

What else was there for him to try? Sam had performed the demon summoning ritual so many times that he would have lost count, if not for the scars left behind from shedding his blood for the spell. Not to mention all the matches he ended up wasting. Dean must have found some way to resist the ritual, either that, or he was simply that strong. That thought made Sam shiver.

Crowley too had failed to show up, but Sam figured he was just being an asshole. Sam summoned him so often that it was almost part of his daily routine. Sam hoped it would eventually get on Crowley's nerves to the point of him finally showing up. Maybe today would be the day it worked. For seemingly the hundredth time, who knows, maybe it was, Sam dropped the match into the bowl, and his eyes darted about the room hopefully.

Wishful thinking was a bitch, plain and simple. As usual, Crowley was a no-show. His expected absence always leads to another tradition.

Drinking. Not demon blood, well, maybe sometimes, but usually at a bar. He'd often drink to the point of blacking out, and in those few blissful moments he didn't have to think about demon blood, Cas's grace wasn't potentially going to kill him, and his brother was beside him, no black eyes, just their wonderful, missed, meadow green. But those few blessed seconds did nothing to soften the blow when reality came crashing back in.

The thought of drinking until he couldn't see straight gave Sam more pleasure than it should have, but the brief burn it left in his mouth at least let him feel something other than grief, and misery. Pain was better than nothing at all.

Half the time, Sam wouldn't even remember driving to the bar. He had started blocking out memories of anything dealing with the Impala, particularly driving. His eyes would always drift to the passenger seat, and the absence of a body would make him want to let go of the wheel and let some car come veering into him. The only true loss Sam could think of would be wrecking Dean's car. His own life was pretty damn useless, worthless in his eyes.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam eventually pulled into the bar, still blocking out the fact that he had driven there. The bar smelled like oak, and obviously alcohol and whiskey. There were times where John Winchester would come home smelling like just that. The stench burned Sam's nose, and he swore that he would never allow himself to be that way, He had also sworn that he'd try to be normal, he'd never go back to demon blood, and he'd never again let his brother down. Broken, broken promises.

It wasn't long before Sam was dousing his insides with beer, and longing to drown out all sobering thoughts. Instinct too became overpowered, so Sam was completely unaware of the man watching him in the darkened corner of the bar. He also didn't notice that someone was beside him, until a familiar voice spoke, tinged with that mocking English accent.

"You've really let yourself go, haven't you, Moose?"

Sam nearly choked on his drink in surprise. "Crowley. You son of a-"

"Careful now." Crowley interrupted. "Wouldn't want to cause a scene."

Sam gritted his teeth, and clenched his fists as he resisted beating Crowley until his stupid little face caved in. His voice was almost a hiss. "Where's. My. Brother?"

"Not even a hello? Rude." Crowley chuckled at Sam's obvious irritation. "Big brother's been just fine without you. Not sure what you did, but he's much more- liberating with a blade after your encounter. I must congratulate you."

The temptation to beat Crowley senseless was almost stronger that his worry for his brother… Almost. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" Crowley apparently planned on milking Sam's misery as long as he could.

"Turn Dean into one of you."

"Oh, that." Crowley chuckled again. "Mark held on to him, mark made him into what he was always meant to be. And I must say, he's really tapped back into the skills he learned in the pit. He's such wonderful company now."

"He's not your pet." Sam spat.

"Got one hell of a bite though." He laughed at himself again. "Surely you can't deny it. You've still got a little souvenir from him, don't you?"

Sam subconsciously reached for his face, where he knew the most noticeable scar Dean had left was. Having a heated poker dragged down your cheek tends to leave a mark. Not to mention his shoulder had been bad even before Dean had messed with it, but being stabbed there had made it just a little bit worse.

"Say what you will, but Dean's something with me that he's never been with you."

Were they dating now or something? Sam still asked anyway. "What is he?"

Crowley grinned again, like a child with a secret. "Free." And on that note, he was gone.

Unlike Sam, Crowley was well aware of the man eyeing Sam in the darkened area of the bar. He disappeared into the parking lot to watch the potential outcome.

Eventually, Sam came stumbling out of the bar, steadying himself against the building for a moment. If this truly was a regular thing, it was a wonder that he hadn't managed to get himself killed driving home.

Sam was promptly followed by a fairly tall man, not as tall as Sam, with spiky blond hair, and fierce blue eyes that practically radiated determination. Sam was fumbling with his keys when the man, Crowley had decided to call him Blondie, swung his elbow into the back of Sam's head.

Crowley watched Sam crumple to his knees, but he didn't go all the way down. He shakily turned towards his attacker, and was greeted with Blondie's fist. Sam's eyes were glazed, but even drunk he was still too damn stubborn, and wouldn't ever give up. Blondie repeatedly punched Sam's face, until he had finally given into the promised darkness.

Blondie dragged Sam's body toward what Crowley assumed was his own car, and let Sam drop as he began grabbing rope from his trunk.

Unseen, Crowley loomed Sam's unmoving body. "Talk about road kill." He chuckled at himself one last time, and then vanished.

* * *

Dean felt the power and ecstasy the blade granted him as he sliced through skin once more. The person beneath the blade, Dean didn't give a damn about his name, screamed again. The sound was like his new classic rock, constantly playing in his head, and he was eager to listen to it again and again.

The First Blade's power rushed throughout Dean's body, taking complete control. His body was simply the power's vessel, bending to its will, and he was thoroughly enjoying the ride.

Wouldn't it be just his luck for something to ruin it? Of course this perfect moment had to be stolen from him, because his phone chose that moment to ring.

Dean grabbed the trembling man by the collar, and hefted him up. Their eyes met, and Dean allowed his eyes to slip black, before flashing the guy a mock apologetic look. "You don't mind if I take this, do you?" Dean answered for him by letting his blade ease into the man's chest with almost loving precision. He felt the mark redden, and warm him with its satisfaction.

With his bloodied hand, he answered his phone. "Hello?"

 _"Hello, Dean."_ Came Crowley's smug voice from the other end.

"What do you want, Crowley? I was in the middle of something."

_"You dear gigantor has gotten himself nabbed once again. I hear that whoever took him is looking for you."_

"Why the hell is that my problem?"

_"He'll be vulnerable. They both will. You find him, and you can get them both out of the way. You do want Sam gone, don't you?"_

"Course I do. Sammy just doesn't understand what it's like to feel strong. He'd just try to take all this away from me. Even thinks he can cure me."

_"And we can't have that, can we?"_

Crowley didn't have to be near him to know that Dean was grinning.

"If you'll excuse me, I've got a little brother to find."

Now that his mind was set, nothing was going to change it. It wouldn't be long before Dean's hands were glistening with Sam's blood.


	2. Doesn't it Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out why this stranger has abducted him, but Sam would really rather not discuss his demonic brother. Cole attempts to offer him some- motivation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, kinda forgot about this again. Here's the next chapter anyway.

Waking up restrained was honestly getting annoying. At least who ever had done it this time had left his slinged arm alone, and just fastened his wrists together with- zip-ties? Seriously?

Pain crept into his head, and Sam wasn't sure if it was a hangover, or if it was from getting punched so many times. He still hadn't a clue as to who the hell took him, or why. When he heard the door of the creepy-ass cellar open, he assumed he would be getting his answer.

The same guy from last night, Sam was pretty sure anyway, it looked like the same blur he had seen the night before, stood in the doorway. He head fairly large boots on, and pants with an annoying excessive amount of pockets. They didn't appear to be empty either.

Being tied up by some unknown guy for some unknown reason wasn't what scared Sam; it was being away from the blood for too long. His last hit was a few days ago, he wasn't sure how long he would last before the detox set in. Sam had been dreading that moment since the first drop of blood trickled down his throat. Hallucinations, cramps, seizures, they were all inevitable, but even Sam's nightmares hadn't imagined them coming so soon. Maybe he'd get lucky and he could just die now instead. Although, the ferocity in the unknown man's eyes told Sam that he wouldn't be getting off that easily.

There wasn't a warning, a cliché introduction and backstory, no indication whatsoever, before the man swung his fist, and nailed Sam in the jaw, snapping his head back. Sam felt the dried blood on his nose be coated with fresh blood at the sudden blow.

"Hey, Sam." Oh sure, now he talks.

Spitting the blood out of his mouth, Sam lifted his head, and cast a glance to the man, trying to read him.

"You ever decide to say something, you can call me Cole. Your brother might have mentioned me. Unless of course murdering my father was that insignificant to him."

Awkward… Dean had never mentioned this guy before. It- it had to be recent right? Regular Dean- _Real_ Dean- wouldn't murder someone without reason, he especially wouldn't have hid it from Sam.

"Took me three damn months to track you down."

Sam sighed in relief. It wasn't _his_ Dean that had done this. His silent victory was short lived when Cole punched him yet again. That was getting old very quickly.

"Something funny about that, Sam?"

Did it look like Sam found anything funny? His annoyance was apparent on his face, despite his currently bleeding nose.

Cole continued his monologue. "What kind of person just kills for fun? Your brother's just sick."

Cole was talking as if he didn't- he didn't know. He had no idea what Dean really was. He wasn't a hunter, just a pissed off human seeking revenge for a loved one's death. No way could that possibly end badly. Although at the moment, Cole did appear to have the upper hand.

"You're no better though." Did Cole know about the blood? "Staying with him, and letting him get away with it. You're just as much of a monster as he is."

 _"You have no idea."_ Sam thought somberly. "What do you want?" It was the first time Sam had spoken, and his voice was much stronger that he had expected. Getting punched in the face had probably woken him up a bit.

"I want to know where your asshole of a brother is."

"Does it look like I know?" As stubborn as Sam always was in these situations, he didn't have to lie this time.

Cole was apparently less willing to believe that, and threw his fist into Sam's face once more, snapping Sam's head back with a grunt. "You ain't the one I got a problem with. You don't need to make things harder on yourself."

Sam merely shrugged his left shoulder, not risking further injuring his right one. "He ran off a few months ago. Lost contact with him."

Cole scoffed doubtingly. "You really think I'm gonna buy that?"

"Not really. I figure you're not gonna listen to anything I tell you that isn't what you want to hear, but that's your problem. Not mine."

Fear crept in at the sight of Cole's eager grin as he reached into one of his many pockets. "I can make it your problem." There was a low hum, and a blue spark, and Sam knew what Cole had taken out.

Swallowing, Sam clenched his jaw, knowing that if he didn't he could end up biting through his tongue. The Taser was held to his stomach for a few painfully suspenseful seconds, before it was flicked on.

The electric charge seared throughout his body, making his muscles alternate between seizing, and locking themselves immobile. His brain blurred as he tried to pull in a breath. His mind couldn't keep track of the seconds, minutes, who knows, that the pain lasted for. The only thing he could concentrate on was the shock coursing through him. He distantly heard himself crying out through his gritted teeth, and then the shock finally ceased.

Sagging down into his chair, Sam sucked in the air he had been depraved of. His fingers continued twitching with the after affects, while his brain caught up with the present.

"Dean. Talk." Cole demanded without any sign of guilt for what he had just done to Sam.

"Eat me." He had barely finished the sentence when a bout of electricity came again. It felt like it was no longer blood rushing through his veins, only the Taser's current. As helpless as the thought made him feel, he knew that he wouldn't be getting out of this on his own, definitely not any time soon.

* * *

Even imprisoned, Metatron was still the biggest dick Castiel had ever met. He'd continuously mock Castiel with Dean's demise, and was extremely generous in reminding him exactly whose fault it was. Metatron's smug little grin drove all the angels mad, especially Castiel.

Sam had told Castiel all about what happened to Dean, and what the mark had turned him into. The mark had worried Castiel from the start, but this? This was just too much. Not to mention how furious Castiel had been when he learned of Sam's re-addiction to demon blood. With so many times Sam had called Castiel in a drunken rage, it was bound to come out eventually.

_"Sam, how could you have done this to yourself?"_

_"Wha're you gon' do 'bout it, Cas? Lock me in Bobby's panic room?" Sam laughed brokenly. "Do it, Cas! Not like it's doing anythin' for Dean, anyway. Think maybe it'll kill me this time? I hope it does!"_

_There was nothing Castiel could say in response to that, and he couldn't be responsible for Sam getting himself killed. He'd seen too many people die already. The best he could do was watch out for him._

Some of Castiel's followers were more reluctant to Castiel's passive behaviour towards Sam, but no one had tried to defy his rule yet.

Castiel still wasn't a leader, he didn't want this burden, especially when he knew about both the Winchester's situations. He always put them before himself, but with all of Heaven looking to him for guidance, he couldn't just abandon the angels.

The angels were rather eager to see Metatron suffer for all he had done to them, and Castiel almost let them have their way, but then he realized that Metatron may be the only angel old enough to know about the Mark of Cain, more importantly, how to get rid of it. His followers wanted Metatron to suffer, and Castiel needed information. 'Why not kill two birds with one stone," as the saying goes.

It wasn't hard to find volunteers for the job of… extracting information out of Metatron. Finally Castiel wouldn't have to hear Metatron's taunts, only his screams.

Above the feeling of victory, Castiel couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite. He too had "played God" once, and he wasn't treated in this way. He tried to tell himself that he had paid enough for those sins already, but his guilt ran too deep to ever be extinguished completely.

Being a human was much less complicated. Eat, drink, sleep. How Castiel envied them, yet another human emotion he couldn't let go if. He knew he'd never a true angel again, and not solely because of his fading grace. That was another problem he had yet to solve, but he simply didn't care. If he died, who would even mourn him? His followers? They'd find someone else to tell them what to do. Sam? Sam already had enough to worry about. Castiel's grace would just be one less thing for Sam to concern himself with. Dean wasn't even a factor, he was no longer human, why would he care for Castiel?

Dean's current state was all that kept Castiel going. It was no secret that he cared for the Winchesters. He couldn't leave Sam or Dean by themselves. Being apart from one another for so long was what had led to their current predicaments in the first place. Sam being desperate enough to use the powers given to him by fallen humanity, and Dean become one of them. Maybe they really do need Castiel, maybe they don't. Either way, Castiel wasn't going to give a damn about himself until his friends were righted again.

Stolen grace, demon blood, and the world's first murder weapon. "Team Free Will" was going to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I can't ever let Cas be content. With Sam, I like writing the hurt. With Dean, I like writing the sass. With Cas, I like writing the angst. Not sure why, but there it is.


	3. Our Time is Running Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole continues his efforts to try and get Sam to talk. Will it possibly be enough to break the youngest Winchester?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long day, busy Summer, that's all I got to say. More violence and torture here.

What the hell is Sam supposed to say? He wasn't lying the numerous times he told Cole that he had no idea where Dean was. And he couldn't tell the truth about Dean being a demon. He doubted Cole would be able to comprehend that idea.

Lies lead to pain, but so did the truth. After suffering at Cole's hands for a few hours now, Sam had begun to wonder how Cole had become so skilled in the art of pain. He could make the smallest thing become a world of hurt. From how he would nick Sam's skin with a rusted blade and rub salt in the wound, to simply wrapping his hands around Sam's neck, and cutting off his air until he was on the brink of passing out, Cole definitely knew what he was doing.

Sam actually feared for however Cole had mastered this particular skill set. Probably watched too many gorn movies. Still, _damn,_ he knew how to make someone hurt.

"Here's what I don't get, Sam." Cole's obnoxiously casual voice was beginning to become just as painful. "Why are you even defending him? I get it, he's your brother, but even you to know how screwed up he is." Cole laughed, although it was more of a scoff, as he reached into his black duffel bag that seemed to never run out of weapons. Sam was momentarily reminded of Mary Poppin's bag that had no limits as to how much could be packed inside. He almost laughed at the pathetic comparison.

"So," Sam's voice was strained from being choked so many times. "You're torturing me, for information I don't have, but you still think Dean's the bad guy?"

Cole simply turned back toward Sam, and before it even registered, Sam found himself doused with a liquid that smelled invitingly familiar; whiskey. Sam coughed as some of it trickled unexpectedly down his throat, and hissed when some of it ran into one of the numerous cuts he had on his body.

Panic crept in anew when Cole held up a lighter, and flicked it on in warning.

Fire had always made Sam uneasy. Watching your mother burn on the ceiling above your crib can lead to those kinds of side effects. Sam didn't remember the fire, but at the back of his mind, he always knew it was something to be feared. The very first spark of a flame he'd ever seen made him cling to Dean in fear.

" _It's okay, Sammy." Dean comforted to his little brother. "It's not gonna hurt you."_

_Four year old Sam clung to his eight year old brother's neck, and burrowed his face into Dean's shoulder, away from the fire._

_"Hey, Sammy."_

_Sam responded by further burying his head into Dean's chest._

_"You remember the fireworks we see every summer right?" He felt Sam nod his head against him. "Well, you need fire to make 'em work. It's what makes the fireworks look so awesome. See? Fire's not so bad after all."_

Thus, ending his fear of fire. Skip ahead a decade and a half, and Sam's ex-fear steals the woman he loved from him. But Dean was there to pull him out of the flames, Dean was always there for him when he needed him to be. Until, the one time he wasn't.

Hell was fire. Sam's hell was skin bubbling from the heat, bones charring under the flames that consumed him daily. Lucifer may have burned cold, but he still burned. Sam would hide how he would flinch every time they had to salt and burn a body, suppress every shudder when they lit a match for a spell, because Dean was there, he didn't have to be afraid. Until now.

The horror in Sam's eyes didn't go unseen by Cole, and he smirked at it. "What's the matter, Sam? Not a fan of fire?" He set the lighter against Sam's arm, and lit it. Sam's jacket smoked at first, and then leapt into a tiny flame.

Sam felt his clothes start to singe, and knew that his layers wouldn't protect him for long. He thrashed wildly, too busy trying to extinguish the fire to feel the pain his struggling caused.

A small flame lasted through his thrashing, and began heating his skin, and then it started burning. Instead of using years of training to think his way out, he screamed.

Cole allowed Sam to suffer for a few seconds longer, then he finally put the fire out. Sam continued panting, failing at trying to mask his complete and utter terror.

"Effective, isn't it? Even better when you've seem to got a little issue with fire. Care to play with it again?"

Sam just closed his eyes in resignation. As much as he wanted to run into Dean's arms to protect him from the flames, he was on his own. There were times where alone was all he wanted to be, but now? He'd trade all those moments away if he could be with someone again.

_"Cas, please… Help me."_

* * *

"Sir?" Hannah asked as she approached Castiel. "Metatron is ready to talk… About the mark."

Castiel shot up eagerly, he only prayed, well, not prayed, hoped that he'd be able to help Dean, no matter what the consequences. He made his way to Metatron's cell, and almost felt pity at the sight before him.

Metatron was sagging against his chains, not an inch of him wasn't dripping blood. His visible skin was countless shades of blue and purple, his fingers were bent at horribly unnatural angles, and he no longer wore a cocky little grin, he was purely resigned. To what exactly was unknown.

"Cas-ti-el." Metatron said his name the same way he always did, over enunciating each syllable. It almost sounded more like a curse this time though. "I suppose you're pretty pleased with yourself now, aren't you?"

Not in the slightest. "Tell me how to cure Dean."

"I don't know why you'd want me to tell you. Once he loses the mark, he's got nothing keeping him alive."

"That is my problem, not yours. Tell me how to cure him."

Metatron sighed like a disappointed parent. "The mark was created for someone who was worthy. Dean, somehow, managed to be adequate enough for it. Find someone else worthy, and get him to give it up."

"How?"

"Have you tried asking him nicely?"

Castiel turned away. Metatron hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. He knew the mark was all that was keeping Dean alive, and a demon. How to make him give up the mark was the question.

"I take it you'll be needing a way to hack back into Dean?"

Sure, you could hack an angel, but could it be possible to do the same with a demon? Reach inside, and find the person trapped within their own minds? "Is there a way to reach Dean?"

"A spell. Same one used to make angels lose control for a while. Happy? Did I earn my gold star?"

As much as Castiel wanted to allow his followers to continue their idea of justice, Metatron had done as he was asked. Castiel simply nodded, and turned to leave again.

"You can't save him, you know. Not really. You cure him, and he's dead."

Castiel paused, but he didn't look at Metatron when he replied. "I know."

Metatron had said something else, but Castiel solely heard Sam's pleading voice in his head.

_"Cas, please… Help me."_

One Winchester right after the other.

* * *


	4. I'm Gonna Change You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't Cas who shows up first to 'save' Sam; it's Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had already used the trials as a cure in another story so I didn't want to repeat myself, so this was what I came up with instead!

Several burns littered various parts of Sam's body, mostly on his torso, besides the largest one right on his thigh. That one had hurt like a bitch. He tried to hold back his screams as best as he could, but there were times where the pain and fear were far too overwhelming.

What was most aggravating was how Cole continuously asked questions that Sam couldn't possibly answer. For example, the bout of questions he was asking now.

"Why did your brother kill my father?!"

Sam was panting, barely able to string Cole's least favourite answer together. "I… Don't… Know."

His answer resulted in another splash of whiskey being thrown on his chest. He winced when it ran into one of his open wounds again.

The lighter descended toward his chest, and he felt the warning heat, just before his chest ignited. Flames roared to life at different points on his torso, blackening the skin, and making Sam cry out hoarsely.

"I could do this all day, Sammy." Cole said, without a hint of guilt. "Answer the question!"

Sam hated how weak his voice sounded, but he was in too much pain to care. "I swear to God, I don't know!" His chest was doused with a sizzle, as the water Cole threw on him put out the fire. He lowered his head to regain his breath, before Cole's hand snaked out, and grabbed his hair, forcing his head up with a grunt.

"I don't like that answer, Sam. You know that." Cole didn't give Sam a chance to try and convince him that it was the truth. He simply grabbed a hammer from the table, and brought it down on Sam's kneecap, honest to God grinning at Sam's scream.

Tears welled in Sam's eyes, but he could only pray that they wouldn't fall. Cole grasped his jaw, and pulled Sam's head up again. Sam just sucked in a pained gasp, almost wanting to plead for it all to stop.

"This is only gonna get worse for you, buddy. If you would just-"

The threat stopped abruptly to the sound of the door banging open. Sam's heart stalled in his chest at the sight of the figure in the doorway. The jawbone dripping blood was far worse and more petrifying than anything Cole could have conjured up.

"Miss me, Sammy?" Dean truly was the epitome of evil at that moment, and Cole didn't stand a chance, but that didn't stop him from charging at Dean. Dean chuckled at him, and merely flicked his wrist, throwing Cole to the wall. "Can't you see I'm trying to talk to my brother here?"

It was the first time Sam had ever seen Cole's bravado fade, he looked horrified. "W-What the hell are you?"

Dean's answer was to pick up the fallen hammer, and saunter over to Cole, who seemed to be frozen in astonishment and shock. Blade in one hand, a hammer in the other, and Dean had begun another masterpiece.

Using Dean's gruesome enjoyment as a distraction, Sam tugged at the zip-ties binding his hands together. Adrenaline fueled him, and numbed the pain of all his injuries. Unfortunately, his efforts weren't enough to break the ties. He closed his eyes and swallowed, bracing himself. He raised his hands, and slammed them down on his hipbone, snapping the ties. Sam choked down a scream as the action set his dislocated shoulder's nerves ablaze.

He forced himself to remain quiet as he stood up, and nearly fell over at the pain of walking on his shattered knee. His shaky fingers reached for the table Cole had spread out his many torture tools, including the canister of salt. He snatched the salt from the table, and made a protective circle around himself.

Everything was a beautiful blur of blood, and cracking bones for Dean. He let the blade free, the mark beaming in satisfaction at the bloodshed it was causing. The man writhed in agony beneath his blade, and everything was right.

As wonderfully as the man screamed, his little brother had been waiting ever so patiently for him. Once Dean had finished this guy off, he eagerly turned towards the chair Sam was tied to… _Should have_ been tied to. Instead, Dean saw him standing in the centre of a salt circle.

"Really, Sammy?" Dean teased. "That's how you're gonna play it?"

In pure desperation, Sam held out his hand, and twisted his wrist. Dean twitched uncomfortably, but that was all the reaction he got. Sam couldn't bring himself to try any harder, before a piercing headache threatened to rip his skull apart.

When the pain finally lessened long enough, Sam could make out Dean's chuckling. "Can't get it up, can you, Sammy? Been too long since your last hit, huh?" Those black eyes that looked _so wrong_ on Dean flashed their way onto his face. "How about this?" Dean lifted his blade, and cut a shallow line on his arm. Dark, tempting rivulets ran down his arm, and Sam couldn't stop his mouth from watering at the sight. "I'll give you some of mine, all you gotta do is come on out of that circle." He didn't bother trying to hide his grin.

Sam had forgotten how badly he had missed the blood until he watched it drip down Dean's arm. As much as he wanted it, he knew Dan didn't actually plan on giving him his blood, only shedding Sam's, so Sam remained where he stood.

Dean's upper lip twitched in annoyance at Sam's unwillingness to move, but then he just started laughing. "You know, Sammy," He continued stepping closer. "Salt lines hurt if we cross 'em," Dean's foot went over the line with a growl. "But I think it's worth it this time." He curled his fist, ignoring the fire crossing the line sent through him, and threw his fist into Sam's face, knocking him out of the circle. "There we go. That's better."

Sam backed away on the floor, and his fingers fumbled for the salt canister. He threw its contents in Dean's direction, and winced at Dean's shout when the salt hit him. If Dean truly didn't care about the salt hurting him, how would Sam be able to keep him at bay?

Hope flooded Sam for the first time when he heard the rustle of wings, and his eyes caught sight of a familiar trench coat. Dean saw it too, but Castiel reacted quicker, gently touching two fingers to Dean's forehead, and he was out cold.

"Cas," Sam breathed out in relief. "You came."

"I heard your call, and I had my followers track you down. I would not leave you on your own. Your timing could not have been better."

Sam winced as he shifted his weight to his uninjured leg. "Why's that? Did you find out how to cure Dean?"

"In a way. If he gives up the mark, then nothing will be keeping him a demon."

"Or alive." Sam added somberly.

"You and I both know that Dean would rather die human than continue living as what he is now."

"Fine, ignoring that, he'd never give up the mark. He's enjoying himself way too much to ever do that."

"Metatron has-"

"Metatron? You're trusting him? After everything he did? He's the reason Dean's dead, Cas!" Sam was shouting, although he wasn't sure what he was most angry about. Story of his life lately.

"Sam, please. I know what you are feeling, I miss Dean too, but Metatron has no reason to lie. He's told me how to momentarily bring Dean out of his demonic state, just long enough to tell him what he needs to do. We must use the same symbol used to temporarily make angels lose control."

"Will it really work on demons?"

"According to Metatron." Castiel regretted those choice words when he saw Sam's obvious disapproval. "If Dean gives up the mark, then it will no longer have a hold on him. We should take him somewhere else. When he wakes up, he should not be around what his other self created."

Sam nodded, and began to head over to Dean to carry him out.

"I will take Dean, Sam." Catsiel insisted. "I will meet you outside."

Again, Sam nodded, and hobbled out of the room.

Castiel looked down sadly at Dean's body once he was alone. "You changed me, Dean. You taught me about free will, about having my own mind, making my own choices. You made me human, Dean. You are worth becoming human for." With every ounce of grace he had left, he placed a hand on Dean's chest, over the scar left behind from Metatron's sword. He felt the last of his grace leaving him, as it healed Dean.

He stood back from Dean, no longer an angel. He was human once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna hurt. No death or anything, but still, it's gonna hurt.


	5. Like a Remix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has found a cure, but the consequences... Oh the terrible, terrible consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Enjoy Not a death fic, don't worry.

Walking hurt, standing hurt, hell, _breathing_ hurt. Each intake of air reminded Sam's chest of the various burns left behind from Cole.

Cole. Sam shuddered. He may have been a horrible person, but his actions weren't completely unjustified. He'd lost a loved one, and became desperate, almost a monster in his hunt for revenge. Sound familiar?

Sam shook his head at the whole thing. Cole was definitely cruel, driven mad by vengeance, but he didn't deserve such a gruesome end, especially at Dean's hands. No one deserved to suffer at Dean's hands, except Sam. After all Sam had done, he had earned every torture Dean could have conjured up for him.

If what Castiel had told him was true, then they wouldn't have to worry about Dean hurting anyone anymore. Sam was definitely wary of anything Metatron had to say, but he wasn't hearing any other ideas. This was all he had, his sliver of hope, more than anything he'd had in months.

Castiel came out of the warehouse Sam had been kept in, dragging Dean's still unconscious body with him. Castiel looked somewhat- different, maybe even a little- off.

"Cas, you okay?" Sam asked, voice still shaking from all the screaming he had done.

"Yes, I-I'm fine," Castiel was breathless, almost like he had just taken on an entire army himself. "Let's go find somewhere to take Dean."

"How 'bout the bunker?"

Good luck getting there without any grace. "I need to conserve my energy. There is an abandoned building a few streets over, that seems like an ideal location."

Sam's brow furrowed in the slightest bit of worry, but he still agreed. "Alright. You sure you're okay, Cas?"

Whether Castiel was ignoring him, or just too focused to hear him, Castiel didn't answer. "Come on."

The act of walking was becoming more and more difficult, as the lack of grace began catching up to Castiel. He'd almost blacked out completely three times by the time he and Sam finally reached the building.

As they both stepped inside the building, Castiel turned to Sam. "You may want to go outside for a moment, and make sure we were not followed. Dean could have told someone where he was headed."

Sam nodded again, and stepped out. The second he did, he almost fell backwards at the sudden _SLAM_ as Castiel swung the door shut and dead-bolted it. He banged the door with his fist, and shouted for Castiel. "Cas? Cas! What's going on?" He threw his hand into the door again. "Cas!"

"It's-It's all going to be fine, Sam." Castiel tried to reassure him, although partly himself as well. "We're all going to be fine."

Sam only intensified his efforts to get inside. "Cas! The spell isn't even gonna work for you! It needs blood from a-"

"Human. I know, Sam."

Silence. Sam was too stunned to say anything. Castiel wouldn't- he couldn't have-… By the time his mind finally accepted it to be true, all he could say was, "What?"

Death was nearing; Castiel could feel it. Even as weak as he was, he still managed to bring up his angel blade, and slice into his palm. It hurt as much as any other injury would, but it weakened him more than he expected. Still, even as his vision blurred and darkened, he coated his fingers with blood, and began painting the sigil. With a final touch of his bloodied hand, the spell was activated.

Castiel heard Dean groan as he awakened. He could only hope about which Dean arose.

"C-Cas?" That voice, the way he said his name, it wasn't a taunt, said out of pure hatred. It was Dean, _his_ Dean.

"Dean." Castiel's voice cracked as it started giving out on him. "We don't have a lot of time before the spell wears off." Or before Castiel dies. "You need to give me the mark."

"What? What's going on, Cas?"

"There isn't time, you need to pass on the mark. You will be fine."

"But- but what about you?"

"Dean," Castiel said hauntingly. "I'm dying, I have no more grace. There is nothing left keeping me alive. If one of us is going to die, it will not be you." Castiel took hold of Dean's arm, and waited for the mark to be transferred.

This was not the first time Castiel had grabbed onto Dean like this. The last time he had held him this way was when he pulled him out of Hell. He was almost doing the same thing now, rescuing Dean from something more horrifying than Hell's flames; himself. The one thing he never wanted to turn in to. History just loved to repeat itself.

The mark began highlighting the veins on Dean and Castiel's arms a bright red as it started latching itself onto Castiel. It burned his skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache the absence of his grace gave him.

Sam incessant pounding was the only sound echoing throughout the whole building. Castiel watched peace slowly ease itself onto Dean's face as the mark lost its hold over him. Darkness started flooding Castiel's mind, anger seeping into every thought, betrayal and thirst for revenge against every wrong done to him corroded his memories. The mark was truly taking over, but at least Dean would be free.

Goodness may have been leaving him, but life and power rushed over him as well. He felt more alive than he had in months. The consequences of this kind of life might not even be worth it, but he was saving Dean.

Blood was the first thing Dean saw when he was coherent enough. It normally wouldn't have been a surprising sight, except it was all over his hands. He had flashes of himself losing control over the blade, hurting Sam, and Cas-

Cas. What had he done? Dean looked over to Cas's body, which was barely moving, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest, "Cas!" Dean rolled him over, and resisted screaming in frustration at the sight of Cain's mark on his arm. Cas's eyes were shut, yet he appeared to be at rest. Dean wasn't used to seeing Cas so, -not human, but,- un-angelic. Castiel began stirring.

"C'mon, Cas…" Dean pleaded.

Sam finally broke down the door, just in time to see Castiel's eyes go black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, this is the end of the story. Sorry, but I loved ending it this way. Hope y'all enjoyed and I'll see what story I feel like putting up next, but until then, carry on my wayward sons!

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be up as soon as I remember to do so!


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